Whatever happened to Christmas tree tinsel? (2024)

Tinsel is the fruitcake of Christmas-tree decorating—you either love it or you loathe it. Unlike fruitcake, however, which has repeatedly re-emerged over the decades in increasingly refined versions of its goopy 1970s self, tinsel—the metallic, single-strand stuff cats eat—is as scarce these days as broadcasts of Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey.

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Little wonder: it takes approximately forever to neatly place 300 flimsy, mirrored strips of metal onto a tree. Plus they wreck the vacuum cleaner and potentially the gastrointestinals of the aforementioned cats. Despite the marketing of newfangled anti-static versions and a variety of colours, the stuff has never managed to regain its special status as the frosting on the tree—a position now held by fluffy garland boas and illuminated plastic icicles.

But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the tinsel on Ken Morrison’s Christmas tree! Here is a man whose devotion to tinsel has not wavered in 40 years (full disclosure: he’s also the father of our art director). Year after year, no matter that it gets harder to find the stuff or that none of his neighbours or family members follow suit, Morrison lovingly, methodically, and with the precision of someone who probably kicks butt at the Operation game, places hundreds of strands of tinsel on his fir tree.
(“Always a fir, they smell the best.”)

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Morrison doesn’t care a whit that tinsel went out of vogue with bell bottoms. “I’ve always put it on the tree—I just really think it adds something,” he says. “And I like tradition.” It takes him about two hours to decorate the tree each year, and although he does the job without help from his wife, Marlene, or grown sons, Morrison denies any control-freakish leanings. “I just enjoy it,” he says. “Christmas is my season. And a little eggnog kinda helps.”

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Indeed, there’s something to be said for stretching such a task to the max. Untrendy as tinsel may be, it’s a perfect festive example of how to live the exalted slow life.

Fruitcake-making falls into the same category. And while Morrison is, indeed, a fan of fruitcake, he’s gearing up for even slower Christmas food: a traditional Ukrainian Christmas Eve feast, in honour of Marlene’s heritage, consisting of 12 dishes, followed by, on Christmas Day, tourtière to celebrate his own French-Canadian origins. “Marlene says, yes, her tourtière is definitely slow food,” says Morrison. “Pork and beef with just the right spices.” And, he adds via email, possibly while gazing upon his tinselled wonder, “a lot of love, of course!”

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